


Booze, Sex, and Very Deep Thoughts

by sk8rpssockpup (MissIzzy)



Series: Remnants of a Real-Time Series [7]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 2008 World Figure Skating Championships, After Party, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Friends With Benefits, M/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-06
Updated: 2008-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:39:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissIzzy/pseuds/sk8rpssockpup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The top 15 men at the 2008 World Championships, after the competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Booze, Sex, and Very Deep Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> According to Kurt Browning during the Canadian broadcast of the exhibition, there was a bit of a wild party after the men's competition ended the event at 2008 Worlds.

**15th**  
  
She'd really only moved to kiss him. But Tomas Verner had been feeling something in him trying to come to the surface for at least an hour, and at the touch of Carolina's lips he snapped. He shoved his tongue into her mouth and threw her down onto the bed. One of the dozens of heart-shaped pillows that consisted on his collection from the fans bounced off the bed. He felt her clumsily maneuver them so her head was rested on another one of them.  
  
Her squirming beneath him brought him back to his senses, and he pulled back. "Sorry."  
  
"All right," Carolina said. But she was obviously uncomfortable, from the way she shifted back and forth. "Kiss?"  
  
She was drunk, maybe. They were both drunk. Tomas had to keep himself from pulling on her hair, from yanked their pants down and just slipping right into her. He kissed and kissed and kissed and felt her lips bruising. She moaned and clutched at him; her legs fell open and it felt like she was giving herself up.  
  
It was enough to make him pull back, but then she shook her head at him.  "Is okay," she said, and never had he been more grateful for her ability to communicate with him in Czech; he wasn't up for other languages at the moment.  "You are not only needy man tonight."  And she was there, like they were always there for each other, to give this to each other on nights like this where it was needed.  He dreaded the day that would change.  
  
 **14th**  
  
The party was at long last winding down, people starting to leave. The first to go had been the people who'd already had someone to go with before the party; they'd gone early enough that those going with other men had felt obliged to put a few minutes between each other's departures. Kristoffer Berntsson knew he wouldn't have to do that, but the question would be moot if he couldn't find anyone else.  
  
The crowd was really starting to thin by the time he found himself smiling at Adrian Schultheiss, who, like everyone, was somewhat drunk, but, Kristoffer was aware, he didn't seem so drunk that he would be incapable of engaging in certain activities, if he wanted to. Mentally Kristoffer tried to calculate how much alcohol he'd had himself and how that might affect him. Unfortunately, he'd had too much to do so. They'd just have to see.  
  
Because from the moment he felt Adrian's hand on his arm and heard his nervous , "Ummm," Kristoffer knew he probably wanted to. Oh yes, he wanted to.  
  
"Don't say anything," he said gently. "You don't want the wrong people to hear you. Just come along; it's time you went to bed."  
  
 **13th**  
  
Adrian Schultheiss wasn't sure what he'd been expecting when he'd decided to try to seduce his older teammate. By the time he'd finally worked up the nerve, he'd gotten drunk enough that expecting anything required too much active thought.  
  
The problem was, when they were both drunk...well, it didn't feel like the great milestone Adrian had sometimes fancied it would be back when he'd been younger. And now his ass felt sore. "Will it hurt to skate tomorrow?"  
  
"What? Nah..." laughed Kristoffer. "Your head'll hurt more than your ass tomorrow."  
  
"Oh no..." He'd forgotten about that.  
  
"So," his companion remained cheerful. "Are you going to go back to your place, or are you going to hog half of my bed?"  
  
"I..." It sounded as if he ought to leave. But he was tired, dammit, and not sure where in the hotel he was, and... "Not moving. Sorry."  
  
"Good." And before Adrian could find the words to ask him why that was suddenly good, there was a snore.  
  
 **12th**  
  
He'd ended up with the boy from South Africa tonight. He was about seven years or so younger than him, but then again, so were most of the rest of his competitors. Sergei Davydov was an old man now.  
  
An old man who, when he was certain his companion was fast asleep, got up and powered up his laptop. It had been a week since he'd checked the headlines.  It would have been too distracting during the competition.  
  
He didn't know, exactly, if and when the ISU might stop recognizing Belarus as a country independent from Russia, but when two countries started the process of joining under one constitution, it didn't look good. Whether Belarus would become purely a part of Russia or, as President Lukashenko somehow hoped, an equal partner in the union, was of no significance to Sergei. Either way, he knew once he was grouped into the same federation as the Russian men, he'd be struggling just to get Grand Prixes, especially if Plushenko did indeed come back. Most of them weren't too consistent-he might very well have beaten most of the ones who weren't here in this competition, but there were many of them, Plushenko and Voronov claimed two spots to the ISU Championships already, and he doubted the Russian federation would like him very much.   
  
He didn't have to leave yet, he knew. At the very least, he had two more events next fall if he wanted them, and if Belarus as an ISU member lasted until Worlds next year that was at least one, very possibly two events for the fall of 2009. Though by then he'd be thirty. As soon as his membership transferred to the Russian federation they'd tell him to retire for that alone.  
  
Would it be better, he wondered, to call it done here? To go out on one of his better performances?   
  
A World Junior medal, a single Grand Prix silver, twice top five at the Europeans, one top ten finish here at Worlds. Once, he'd dreamed of so much more.  
  
 **11th**  
  
"Do you know what it's really starting to look like over here?" Jeremy Abbott was saying to his boyfriend over the phone. "It's starting to look like a war between quads and triple axels! Those who can do the quad better are all clamoring for it to be worth more, those can do the triple axel better are complaining things are too dependent on it already. And to be honest, I do think whether you land a quad or not sometimes does influence your presentation mark a little."  
  
"Still," laughed Ryan, "there isn't any doubt which side you're going to be on, is there?"  
  
"I don't know. I keep expecting to start falling on the quad again, at least when I'm not on the ice. It's still only been three times."  
  
"But you're pinning a lot of your hopes on it, aren't you?"  
  
"Who isn't?" Even Ryan was doing his level best to land them. "Besides our new World Champion, anyway?"  
  
"Well, he's pretty important," said Ryan reasonably. "You want to be him one day, don't you?"  
  
"Yeah," said Jeremy, remembering what Jeffrey Buttle had said to him only a little more than a month earlier at Four Continents, about just that. Of course, none of them had dreamed at the time that he'd win this competition. But didn't that just enforce what he had said, that Jeremy could do it? If he was willing to do what had to be done?  
  
He thought of Ryan, over in Germany performing alongside Katarina Witt, whom he had come to know very well indeed these past two months, and not even because of their new relationship, but because of their mutual successes and what they had exposed in each, and felt a strange sadness.  
  
 **10th**  
  
Stephen Carriere had never gotten drunk before. He wasn't even sure if it was legal for him to do so here or not. But after spending a week in pain he felt he had a right to use something that dulled it and that he wasn't allergic to. And he'd earned those three spots, hadn't he? Done his part for them. Okay, only because the poor Czech guy had completely melted down, but still, he wanted his reward.  
  
Okay, maybe he shouldn't have gotten this drunk, so that there were now several Patrick Chans floating in front of him, and he really hoped they weren't coming on to him. Yeah, he wanted to get laid too, and he wasn't so old that he didn't understand the boy's frustration, but he wasn't sure if he could get it up, and that would just be embarrassing.  
  
"So," the boy was saying. "Who are you leaving with?"  
  
"Nobody," was Stephen. "Both my teammates have boyfriends and everyone else would say I'm too young." Yeah, he understood. But again, no..  
  
"Come on, then." Stephen felt two firm hands grab his arm and start leading him away.  
  
He thought about protesting, but really, if they two kids couldn't get laid anywhere else, they might as well get laid with each other, right? He just hoped he could get it up.  
  
 **9th**  
  
Lugging a very drunk American guy through a bunch of corridors hoping none of the wrong people saw them was hardly an easy task-he could always just point out that he companion was so drunk he needed to be helped to bed, but not only were they not from the same country, but when he was barely 17, Patrick Chan wasn't sure he should have been at that party in the first place.   
  
Though since he was in fact being followed by a potential ally, that at least left somehow to possibly head intruders off.  
  
Finally they arrived back at Stephen Carriere's hotel room, at which point the latter said, "You know, I don't think..."  
  
"Go to sleep," Patrick told him, and pushed him down onto the bed. Finding his keycard in his pocket, he then walked out, locked the door behind him, and slipped the keycard under the door.  Then it occured to him maybe he should've left a note, since Carriere probably wouldn't remember anything.  But he could probably figure out someone had helped him back, and it didn't really matter who in the end.  
  
From a few feet away, Andrew Pojé said, "You're not sleeping with him."  
  
"I'm actually straight.  The bet was that I could get one of the American guys to take me back to his room. You didn't say anything about doing anything once we got there. Now pay up."  
  
 **8th**  
  
"How much did you have to drink?" Nanri Yasuharu gave no answer except a groan.  
  
This was not how Kozuka Takahiko had hoped to end the night. He had limited his drinking in the hopes of enjoying the later part of the night with a companion; the young American guy had looked good. But first Carriere had gotten hopelessly drunk and the Canadian boy had run off with him, and then both of his older teammates had disgraced themselves with how much they'd drunk. He'd left the girls to handle Takahashi and was now dragging Nanri down the corridor and hoping he didn't get sick.  
  
"Stupid Takahashi," Nanri commented. "Stupid celibate Takahashi. Didn't even medal. Hope Ando Miki-san isn't too nice to him."  
  
"On a night like this one," Takahiko started, "you could hardly expect him to-"  
  
"Urp," Nanri interrupted him, and Takahiko started running him towards the men's room.  
  
 **7th**  
  
"Let Plushenko come!" Sergei Voronov declared, for what wasn't the first time that night, but he was sure he was allowed to say it at least once more. And again. "Let Plushenko come. I'm ready for him."  
  
"Yes, of course," agreed Alexander Smirnov, and kissed him.  
  
"Really," Sergei felt the need to say. "Even if he does beat me next year, he's from the past now. I'll be able to pass him by the Olympics."  
  
"I'm sure you will," Sergei wasn't sure if Alexander was paying any attention to what he was saying. He seemed more interested in kissing. And the kissing was nice, yes, but Sergei was trying to make a point.  
  
"I'm not," Alexander gave him a very long and a very deep kiss, and after he pulled away he needed a minute to remember what he'd been saying. "As I was-ohhh..." When had Alexander gotten his underwear down? "I..." Never mind, that felt good.  
  
"You can tell me about it later," said Alexander, and Sergei decided he was right.  
  
 **6th**  
  
In the early hours of the morning Kevin van der Perren woke up to find the other side of the bed empty. His head was pounding so hard he had to struggle to lift it. He saw Jenna sitting on the edge of the bed, naked, but his head hurt too much for even that to be very interesting, so he put it back down again.  
  
"Is this it?" he heard her ask, in English, almost to herself. "Is it up for both of us now? You're about to lose your funding, and I'm getting too old now."  
  
"Don't be gloom, baby," he said, trying to crawl over to her without making the headache worse. "Have plenty of money. I just won it." Then he felt a warning pain in his hip and had to stop.  
  
Jenna lay back and was in his line of sight. "I think we just both had our best competitions anyway. But I suppose...I don't know if they'd send me to the Olympics, you know, even if I did earn a spot. You're lucky."  
  
"Have you had enough?" he asked, carefully. He recalled that she'd seriously considered retiring the previous season, but had decided to keep on competing more or less because he was doing so. They'd never been on and off about the idea that if one of them seriously wanted out, that could be it for the other as well, but he knew that if one of them did, the other would be heavily tempted at the very least. Besides, this wasn't a bad note for him to end on. She probably would have liked a better competition, but, well, if she didn't want to try for one...  
  
"I don't know," she said, and he wasn't in shape to press her further.  
  
 **5th**  
  
From the way Johnny was muttering to himself, Stephane Lambiel suspected he'd still be mad at Carolina tomorrow. He might be himself, but at the moment he didn't care. All he could think was that it would all be all right when they got back to his room, when he had Johnny's naked body pressed against his and Johnny's hands on him and Johnny's cock in him.  
  
Johnny slammed the door behind them and Stephane slammed him up against it and kissed him hard. As he crushed them together one of his hands wound into Johnny's charm necklace, until he could feel between his fingers the tiny silver ladybug he'd given Johnny earlier that month. He'd never felt the need to claim someone like this before, but now he clutched at it and whispered, "My Johnny..." between kisses.  
  
"You're drunk..." Johnny said feebly. He might be a little himself, but Stephane had done his best to keep him from drinking too much. He'd done more than enough; Johnny was hard already.

"Not too much for this," Stephane whispered back. "Please..." He took Johnny's hands and started moving them up and down his body, until Johnny got the message and was touching him everywhere, kissing his way down Stephane's collar.  
  
He got the shirt off and his teeth were on Stephane's nipples, making his body arch and ache with need. "Want for me to fuck you, no?" he pulled away only long enough to whisper.  
  
"Fuck me, kiss me, hold me, just touch me-" His words slurred into a helpless moan as Johnny got his pants open, and by the time they got over to the bed he had given up all thought and speech, aware only of Johnny's hands and mouth and arms and hips, and his cock, pounding into him, going deeper when Stephane begged for it, taking him past the bad ice and his treacherous knees and the painful end to his flamenco as a competitive program.  
  
 **4th**  
  
Takahashi Daisuke was feeling like shit for multiple reasons. He hadn't even finished on the podium, he'd drunk too much, he'd made himself a burden for Miki when she, through no fault of her own, hadn't even been able to finish her competition, he'd gotten sick all over her bathroom and it had taken him half an hour to thank her for even holding his hair back. Now he had a hangover. Serve him right.  
  
Her bathroom still smelled, so they'd retreated to his hotel room. He hadn't asked if she'd been expecting their coach; he wasn't up to dealing with that.  He'd initially thought of insisting she take the bed, but he somehow hadn't gotten around to it and in the end they both slept in it. It didn't matter, not with the two of them anyway.  
  
She had to urge him up the next morning, reminding him of the gala. He limped through his shower, got dressed, though it took several attempts to get his shirt on right, remembered to brush his teeth only then, and thanked Miki, dazedly, when she offered to do his hair for him.  
  
"I'm afraid you're going go need all the compassion you get, Dai-chan," she said sadly. "If I were you, I'd settle in New Jersey permanently and never set foot in Japan again."  
  
"I can't do that!"  
  
"Then start sneaking in and out in the middle of the night? Serious, Dai-chan, they're going to be brutal."  
  
He knew she was right. Noone knew the ugliness of media backlash like she did. "They can't go after you this time, though," he said. "You did everything you could. You showed more dedication than most skaters would."  
  
"I don't know," said Miki. "I don't know what they'll see, what they'll say about me. But about you, I'm afraid there's no question."  
  
"You're disappointed in me too, aren't you?" He didn't blame her at all, but that hurt more than anything else had yet.  
  
"No," she protested at first, but he knew her too well, and she knew that. "I can't condemn you. I know how it is."  
  
"I'm so, so sorry," he said, and even he didn't know just which of the many possibilities he was apologizing for in particular.  
  
 **3rd**  
  
He was still going to be mad at Carolina for embarrassing him in front of several of his Russian friends with her innuendos, but in retrospect, he thought she might have been trying to give him a friendly warning. Not to mention Stephane's not-so-clever attempts to keep him from drinking too much. And Johnny Weir had already known that when Stephane skated badly, he usually wanted to be fucked afterwards. But waking up after an hour or so's sleep at most with a bit of a headache and a number of stronger aches in more interesting places, all he could think of was that sex had never in his life been *that* intense before. It was just as well he'd been a little drunk, perhaps; sober, he might not have survived the experience.  
  
Despite the aches and pains he was feeling pretty good, he supposed. He had a world medal, a successful season, the sense of having improved himself, and the man he loved pressed against him with his arms around him. Considering the disastrous skates and season and the broken heart in his past, he really couldn't ask for more at the moment.  
  
Well, except maybe a little more sleep, but there was practice for the gala this morning, and given Stephane was going to probably very badly want a shower as soon as he woke up, Johnny had better have his immediately.  
  
Showering always took some time, of course, especially after a night of wild drunken sex. As Johnny gave himself, his face, and his hair each a thorough washing, and then a second one, he kept expecting to hear Stephane's footsteps in the other room. But when he emerged at last, wrapped up in towels and feeling far better, Stephane lay exactly as Johnny had left him, arms thrown loosely around nothing, but a smile still on his face.  
  
 _Still,_  thought Johnny,  _I'm starting to think it's going to take more than just getting drunk and fucked to solve his problems. And I might not be able to help him there at all._  
  
 **2nd**  
  
It took some hours to Brian Joubert to finally realize his girlfriend wasn't in the mood for sympathizing much with him. Instead, she was in the mood for sex, which he wasn't very good at when he'd had this much to drink. So they both went to sleep feeling very dissatisfied.   
  
He tried to make it up to her in the very early hours of the morning. Now they both had headaches and weren't in the mood for sex, but they showered together and fondled each other a little, and he told her all the good things he could remember from watching her skate.  
  
"You were not paying true attention, though," Valentina said when he was done. "You could not."  
  
"No," he admitted. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Do not be. That I understand, at least." She turned the water off and he stepped out to grab them towels as she wrung out her hair. "If only we the ladies still skated last."  
  
"But surely you liked my performance?"  
  
"Yes, but I would remember that anyway. Noone will forget any of that final flight."  
  
"How do you think the others were? I didn't look too much at the first four, only at their scores."  
  
She giggled. "You saw and heard enough. And no more complaining, I warn you."  
  
"Damn."  
  
She took a towel from him and wrapped it around herself. Someday he was going to tell her how fetching she looked like that. "Brian," she asked, "is it not enough that I cared more where you finished than where I did? You should appreciate that very much."  
  
 **1st**  
  
Jeffrey Buttle had not drunk. He had not slept. He had become aware these past few hours that when combined with fatigue, joy could be as strong a numbing agent as pain was.  
  
He had no idea what time it was when he stumbled into his hotel room, really needing to pee. When he dropped the medal on the bed on the way to the bathroom, he was vaguely aware that it probably should be treated with more respect than that.  
  
While washing his hands, he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked pretty good, but he probably wanted a more energetic smile for the Exhibition tomorrow. Or today; that would be a better way to describe it. Though if it was still two or three or something...he decided to go find the alarm clock.  
  
He was so tired he stared at the dresser for over five minutes before he remembered the clock was by the bed. Then when he found the clock it took him several more minutes to process where the hands were and significance of that; he first was surprised to see it was still only 1 AM, until he realized that was the minute hand and it was really a little after four. He couldn't for the life of him remember when the practice was, so he decided to shower immediately to be on the safe side.  
  
Water in his face helped wake him up a bit. He'd read once that if you managed to stay up past a certain point in time, you'd be able to make it until the next morning no problem, but he couldn't remember what point in time that was, not to mention his internal clock was a little awry at the moment anyway, between the time zones and the competition keeping him up at hours when he normally would have been long since asleep. He wasn't feeling the urge to sleep, in any case; he just felt tired.  
  
Still he yawned as he exited the bathroom and started groping about for his clothes. He had them on and was working on his hair when he came back to the bed, and ran a hand through the medal ribbon.  
  
He picked it up and held it up in front of him. The gold gleamed as the ribbon twisted and the medal turned back and forth. He scooted over to the table to put it down.  
  
He watched it settle next to the photograph of himself and Chris lain facedown with the little medal from yesterday still on top of it. He pulled the photograph out and looked at it.

He would say later his winning had finally sunk in when Brian Orser had texted him a congratulations, which was a lie, because it was impossible to tell the world that it had all sunk in then.


End file.
